


Muddy Canvases

by secrettemplars (tricycleamoving)



Category: Kuroko no Basuke | Kuroko's Basketball
Genre: Agender Akashi, Agender Character, Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Character Death, Genderqueer Character, Genderqueer Furihata, Implied/Referenced Suicide, Non-Graphic Violence, Other, Supernatural Elements
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-25
Updated: 2015-07-25
Packaged: 2018-04-11 03:11:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,272
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4418897
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tricycleamoving/pseuds/secrettemplars
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>Someone new had joined them today.</i>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	Muddy Canvases

**Author's Note:**

> And I'm back with yet another fic! This one's my second entry into fuwa's akafuri contest, and since I wanted to change things up a bit I decided to write something with. y'know. an actual plot. ~~This will also be crossposted on tumblr and I will link to it here once I've posted it.~~ It's up [here](http://genderqueerfuri.tumblr.com/post/124981742672/muddy-canvases) on tumblr!
> 
> I don't know if I'll write a continuation of this, mostly cuz it's... a pretty heavy plot and it'll end up being like 50k knowing how I write. Either way, I rather like the concept and if it happens, it'll happen. 
> 
> A very quick run-down of the tags: I'm being very vague with my tags right now mostly cuz I don't want to spoil things for people? But I will say that there are mentions of suicide, a lot of stuff to do with death and a brief mention of violence in this fic, so for those who don't deal well with this sort of stuff, please be careful! 
> 
> Standard characterisation applies: Genderqueer Furihata (he/him) and Agender Akashi (they/them)
> 
> Enjoy!

Someone new had joined them today.

Furihata tried his best not to stare as he glided into the run-down room, instead choosing to slip into his usual creaking seat, nodding to the others who had already arrived. Everyone else was trying their best not to stare at their new addition too, he could tell, but it had been so _long_ since anyone new had shown up that they were all a little curious, a little wary, a little unnerved. He glanced over again, taking in the rusty red hair and the wrinkled business suit, the uncomfortable silence that shrouded the newcomer like a mourning veil, the look in their eyes blank, like an empty canvas-

No. Not like an empty canvas.

It was something more like a canvas that had been clumsily painted over with clumpy white paint, streaks of muddy colour left to rot amongst a glaringly bleak and empty surface.

Furihata shuddered (it all hit a little too close to home).

It was only when those glassy red eyes moved to stare into his did he look away, hurriedly looking down at his fidgeting hands, hoping that the newcomer took no offense. Picking at the skin around his nails, he risked another glance back up at the newcomer and found those red eyes again. There was something in those eyes that made him unable to look away, as if he were a moth drawn to a flame, and a weird pang of _something_ shot through him then and there, a strange cross between empathy and déjà vu.

Then Takao finally appeared, and he was ripped away from his daze, eyes darting away from the newcomer.

“Alright, alright, everyone,” Takao said, clapping his hands together, “Settle down!”

All of them remained as silent as they were before. Takao liked to jokingly describe them as an unusually dreary group, but it was simply just the way they all were. Furihata thought of everyone in the group as friends, albeit the kind you only see once a week, but they were always comfortably silent before their sessions, like they were all giving each other some breathing space to think and reflect before all the big stuff happened. The loudest thing they had was Kise, but he’d stopped attending around a month ago for reasons unknown (Furihata likes to think that he got better, that he left because he didn’t need them anymore, but one can never be sure with these things), and so they lapsed into silence as usual.

“Now, before we get into the nitty gritty, let’s go over the rules again,” Takao said, before holding up his index finger, “One. No one is forced to speak. If you have something to say, go right ahead! But don’t feel like you _need_ to speak, alright?”

“Two,” Takao continued, holding up two fingers now, “What’s said here, stays here. It’s a brave thing, y’know, to come here and share your story, and it’s super disrespectful to talk about these stories outside of the group without permission. Confidentiality is key!”

“And lastly,” Takao said, three fingers in the air, “Don’t interrupt each other! If you want to say something, raise your hand and wait for the other to finish speaking first. This is a safe space, and we want to make sure everyone is being respectful. Got it?”

Some of them nodded, others droned out a “yes”, but the newcomer stayed silent.

“I’m the moderator of this group today, Takao Kazunari. Let’s get down to business, folks!” Takao exclaimed, clapping his hands together again before taking a seat within the circle of chairs. The moderator did quickly give the newcomer a once-over, but clearly did not have the same visceral reaction he did (after all, Takao’s kind weren’t exactly attuned to that sort of thing: the fact that Takao actually cared about their group was already a feat in itself).

“Can I go first today, Takao?” Furihata asked, raising a hand.

“Go for it, Furihata!” Takao replied, giving him a thumbs up, “It’s not often that you raise your hand, y’know.”

Honestly, he hadn’t planned to say anything during the session, but there was just something about the newcomer that made him feel this itch under his skin, this urge to say something just to make them _look_ at him again. He didn’t know whether that was a good thing or not, but he’d already dug his grave: he couldn’t back out now.

“Uh, so yesterday I decided to go back to the place where I… y’know,” Furihata said, voice hesitant and soft, “Just hoping to look for clues, trying to piece together what happened in my mind. It was… really strange. I haven’t been back there since… yeah, and I… I don’t really know what I was expecting. Maybe a breakdown? Some sort of realization or epiphany? But instead I just felt… nothing. It feels like there’s something _missing_ , barely out of my reach. It didn’t feel right.

“For so long I’ve been pumping myself up for this, telling myself that I have the strength to go back, that maybe after so many years I can finally move on, but I just… I don’t know. It didn’t feel right back there. It doesn’t feel right, even now. I’m not looking for advice or anything like that, but I do feel a little better talking about it here, and hopefully one day I’ll find the answers I’m looking for.”

Silence fell across the room after he finished speaking, but Furihata could tell it was not meant to be an isolating one. Rather, it was like an acknowledgement, this little group’s own way of comfort. Interrupting such a silence with words would be pointless.

After a moment, it was Momoi who finally spoke up.

“I’d like to go next,” she said, the pink nailpolish on half of her nails glistening as she raised her hand.

“Go ahead!” Takao replied, grinning cheerfully.

“Like Furihata, I went back to where it all began… or where it all ended, technically,” Momoi said, a bittersweet smile on her face, “I finally managed to bring myself to visit him. It was… overwhelming, to say the least. I remember standing at the doorway, looking at that familiar wooden door, wondering if I should step in or not. I don’t know how long I spent just standing there, but once the sun started to set I decided to finally go through that door.

“It looked so different inside. The curtains were new, the windows were open, even the doorknobs on some of the doors had been changed. I’ve told you how Dai-chan usually is, all messy and lazy and grumpy, so seeing all this, it- it really wasn’t what I was expecting. Dai-chan was napping on the couch, the same gross magazine still in his hands, and I just stood there, looking at him. I stood there for so long even my legs started to feel something, and when he finally woke up he shuffled towards the cabinet and s-said my name, like he was greeting me. He still kept m-my picture, after all this time. The frame even had cute tiny peaches on it…”

Tears rolled down Momoi’s face while a hand clutched at her heart, shaking. Furihata could feel tears prickling at the corner of his eyes too, though whether they were tears of sadness, joy, or envy, he didn’t know. Perhaps it was a combination of all three. Those sitting nearer Momoi reached out to console her, and Furihata starting looking for a pack of tissue on instinct before reminding himself that she wouldn’t be able to use it anyway.

It’s not like ghosts had any use for tissues, after all.

A few minutes later, the room fell into silence again, the only sound being an occasional sniffle on Momoi’s part. Furihata had a feeling that Takao was going to end the session early, judging by the way his eyes darted around the room, looking for any raised hands and finding none. The moderator was about to open his mouth to announce the end of the session when suddenly, a pale, slender hand was raised in the air.

Everyone froze.

In the wake of Momoi’s emotional story, Furihata had nearly forgotten about the newcomer. Although their hand was raised, they weren’t looking at Takao. Rather, they were trained on him, eyes red as blood piercing into his, eyebrows slightly scrunched in… frustration? That weird pseudo-déjà vu feeling struck within him again, and for a slight moment it felt like his brain had been struck by lightning-

~~(a mug only half-filled with coffee. you have to find it. the computer screen glare burns a hole into your eyes but you have to find it _you have to find it before it’s too late they’ll ta_ )~~

-brief fleeting thoughts invading his brain before leaving as fast as they came. Furihata could only stare, jaw slightly dropped, searching for answers he knew he wouldn’t be able to find within those glassy eyes.

“And I was just about to end the session too,” Takao remarked, before smiling at the newcomer, “Go right ahead, newbie.”

Everyone waited for them to speak. Even Momoi had stopped her sniffling, remnants of her tears clinging to the corner of her eyes as she looked at the newcomer with a sense of grim curiosity.

“My name is Akashi Seijuurou,” they said, speaking at a volume barely above a whisper in a way that might have been considered confident, if it weren’t for the fact that they sounded like they had swallowed a dozen rusty needles beforehand.

“I don’t remember how I died.”

 

* * *

 

Furihata eyed Akashi as the other ghouls faded away and left the decrepit room. The session had been… jarring, to say the least, and in any other circumstances he would’ve been the first one to leave, but there was just something within him that told him he _had_ to stay. There was something about Akashi Seijuurou that hit the wrong spots in all the right places, and he wanted- no, he _needed_ to know why.

“Hey,” Furihata said, standing in front of his chair.

Akashi only looked up at him from where they were still sitting across the circle, their hands clasped together, resting on their lap.

“There’s a deserted diner a few minutes away from here,” he said, awkwardly fiddling with the hem of his damp shirt, “We could go there, if you want.”

A horrid, scraping sound emanated from the chair as Akashi stood up, echoing across the deserted room. They strode over to him, gaze unflinching and confident as they came to a stop next to where he stood.

“Lead the way,” Akashi said.

They left the room.

 

* * *

 

“I don’t remember how I died too,” Furihata said, sighing as he leant back into the dusty cushion on the booth, eyeing the redhead sat across the table from him, “Things are starting to come back to me now, but in a way that’s almost… _glacial_. It’s too slow for my liking.”

“I’m assuming that it’s unusual for a ghost to be devoid of memories, then?” Akashi asked, voice hoarse and raspy, sounding as if they almost had to force the words out of their mouth.

“Everyone else I know has their memories,” Furihata replied, “I asked Takao too, and he said that it was pretty rare. He’d never seen one until me, and now you’ve appeared, so I guess that makes two.”

“… But you still remember everything except your death, correct?” Akashi asked, their lips twisting into a frown.

“I remember most of it, it just goes fuzzy after a certain point,” Furihata shrugged as he replied, before tilting his head in confusion, “Is… it not the same for you?”

“I don’t remember anything,” Akashi said, those glassy eyes darting down to the left as they avoided his gaze, “There are things I just know, like that my name is Akashi Seijuurou, or that I’m twenty nine years old. I know I have a father and a mother, and I know I was a successful businessman when I was alive. But other than that… I remember nothing.”

“That’s… definitely new,” Furihata replied, and it was all he said before the two of them fell into silence again. The silence was of the hanging sort, the kind that felt heavy and left behind too many unsaid things, and Furihata scrambled to find something, _anything_ to say to make it lift. It was just… what else could you say to that? ‘I’m sorry that you don’t remember anything at all’? Any sort of apology or attempt at consolation just felt fake to Furihata.

“Why did you bring me here?” Akashi suddenly asked, eyes boring into his, “Surely you wanted to do something more than just ask me about my past.”

“I… Let’s just say I have a hunch,” Furihata said, “I just think there’s something not right with all of this.”

“And your ‘hunch’ has to do with me,” Akashi stated.

“Look, we’re the only two ghosts around who don’t remember how they died, that surely has to count for _something_ ,” Furihata blurted out, voice tinged with pure desperation, “When I look at you it just feels weird, like I’ve met you before even though I know I haven’t, and at this point I’d do anything to find out how I died-”

“You don’t have to say any more,” Akashi interrupted, awkwardly clearing their throat, “I understand. I’ll help in whatever way I can.”

“Thank you so much,” Furihata gushed, before sticking a hand out over the table for a handshake, “Of course it’s not just a one sided thing, I’ll do my best to help you regain your memories too!”

“That is very much appreciated,” Akashi replied, firmly shaking his hand. It was a strange feeling, shaking their hand. Furihata could almost say that it had felt _warm_ , which was extremely odd considering the fact that they were ghosts and he was pretty sure ghosts couldn’t feel anything of that sort. Maybe he had just been imagining it.

Furihata was about to pull his hand away from the handshake, when he felt slim fingers slide down his hand and onto his wrist, moving his hand so his palm was facing upwards.

“Ah,” Akashi said.

“I know what it looks like,” Furihata replied, placing his other hand palm-up on the table so the twin scars along his wrists were visible to the other ghost, “Suicide. But I think there’s something more to my death than just that. When I went back to the place I spawned, something just didn’t sit right with me. I even sat in the same bathtub I woke up in years ago, but it didn’t- I might not remember why or how I died, but it feels wrong to rule it as just another suicide.”

“So you don’t think it was suicide,” Akashi said, their lean fingers still gently wrapped around his wrist.

“I didn’t lead a very comfortable life, nor a particularly easy one,” Furihata replied, looking down at his wrists and the way that Akashi’s fingers looked so pale in comparison to his own tanned ones, “But suicide had never crossed my mind at all. It just doesn’t add up. Either I killed myself for reasons I no longer remember or…”

“… Or someone made it look that way,” Akashi said, vocalising his own unspoken thoughts.

“It sounds ridiculous,” Furihata replied, frowning, “But it’s a possibility.”

“It might be more likely than you think it is,” Akashi replied. Furihata tilted his head in confusion: What did they mean by that? If Akashi remembered nothing of their life before, how could they sound so certain about something they knew nothing about?

Akashi’s hand slipped away from his wrist towards their collar, those long and lanky hands moving to loosen the patterned silk tie around their neck, unbuttoning the top two buttons of their wrinkled, white dress shirt. Furihata could still feel the faint imprint of Akashi’s fingers around his wrist: it tingled in a way that he could not explain.

“If your ‘hunch’ is correct, it means that our deaths are very likely to be linked to each other,” Akashi stated, “Yes?”

“Yeah,” Furihata replied, still baffled at what point the other ghost was trying to make.

Akashi tugged their collar down, revealing the marred skin previously hidden behind the suit and tie. On instinct, Furihata’s hand shot out, fingers curling around Akashi’s pale neck, a thumb resting on part of the long shadowy bruise wrapped around their neck in a near-perfect circle. He’d expected for Akashi to recoil, or push his hand away, given how sudden and abrupt his actions were, but they only tilted their head in the other direction, letting him trace part of the bruise with his thumb, lidded eyes staring at him as he did so.

“I woke up in a deserted flat with this and an inability to speak above a certain volume without it sounding like I had swallowed a blender,” Akashi said, lifting their hand to their neck and resting it above Furihata’s, that weird tingly feeling reverbing through his bones again, “It’s most likely due to strangulation of the ligature variety. Probably a rope or wire of some sort, I think.”

“Not a very natural cause of death,” Furihata remarked, pursing his lips, “Meaning that if _you_ were murdered…”

“It’s is extremely likely that you were too,” Akashi said.

A strange feeling broiled at the pit of his stomach, a cocktail of uneasiness and anxiety brewing within him. The idea of either of them being murdered was a little too much to bear, and a part of him wanted nothing to do with it, wanted nothing more than to leave this horrid diner and the amnesiac ghost behind. The other part of him, however, wanted to fight on. Despite the itch under his skin, despite the dread crossing his heart, deep down he _knew_ that he was treading on the right path, that he was one step closer to the truth.

_It’s worth it_ , Furihata thought, _All the pain and grief and hurt. It’s worth it if we can finally move on._

“It won’t be a great experience remembering how it felt, if we get our memories back,” Furihata murmured, feeling like his throat had been stuffed with cotton, while his eyes remained transfixed on the pale hand atop his.

“ _When_ we get them back, Furihata,” Akashi sternly replied, letting their hand drop back down onto their lap, “Not if.”

“Of course,” Furihata said, their fingers lingering on the curve of Akashi’s neck before retreating, resting on the tabletop, “We’ll find the truth. Together.”

“Together,” Akashi agreed, lips quirking upwards in a faint smile, mirroring the hesitant smile blooming on his face.

Perhaps together, they’d be able to find out what really happened to them, find out what happened to him all those years ago and what Akashi Seijuurou was like when they were alive. Perhaps they’d be able to figure out how Furihata Kouki, the desperate author, stood in relation to Akashi Seijuurou, the wealthy businessman. Or perhaps they’d fail and never move on, forever trapped on this earth and in their minds, haunted by what they would never know.

It was too soon to make any sort of conclusions.

Furihata could only sit in this dusty, deserted diner with twin scars along his wrists and a newly-made acquaintance who felt too familiar to be a stranger sitting across him and hope for the best. Only time could tell how their story would unfold.

He hoped it would be a good one. 

**Author's Note:**

> Notes:  
> 1\. This was written to Yann Tiersen's _[Naval](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=m4kRciR7Eo4)_. For those music nerds out there and for those who are thinking of rereading it I'd highly recommend having this play in the background while you do! 
> 
> 2\. orz I'm so sorry I have no idea how to write Takao or Momoi. I hoped they came across as good characters though...
> 
> 3\. So yeah. You can see how this has the possibility of turning into a 50k fic... I'm not exactly sure if I'm willing to commit to actually writing it, though, but I do have a few ideas of how to move forward, so _maaaybe_ there might be a sequel.
> 
> Yeah, I'm not going to leave a whole heckle of notes like I usually do, mostly cuz I just want to see how y'all interpret this yourselves??? 
> 
> If you enjoyed it, feel free to leave a kudos, comment or bookmark!


End file.
